


Sherlock One Shots

by Turtlephant



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 21:15:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14120988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turtlephant/pseuds/Turtlephant
Summary: A bunch of one shots that pop into my head. Please request if you want to see something.





	1. Chapter 1

"Nah." Moriarty scoffed. "You talk big. Nah, you're ordinary. You're ordinary, you're on the side of the angels."   
"Oh, I may be on the side of the angels, but don't think for one second that I am one of them." Sherlock said stormily.    
"No you're not." Moriarty said with a look of realization in his eyes. Then he grinned. "I see. You're not ordinary. No. You're me. You're me! Thank you, Sherlock Holmes." Moriarty exclaimed, then proceeded to slowly shake hands with Sherlock. "Thank you. Bless you. As long as I'm alive, you can save you're friends. You've got a way out. Well good luck with that." Moriarty opened his mouth wide and shot himself in the head. Sherlock stumbled backwards, startled and disbelieving. His one hope at life, gone. Sherlock panted, and put his hands top his head. It settled on him that he actually had to die. He stepped up slowly onto the ledge and looked down.   
He saw John. Slowly, he got out his phone and called John.   
"Hello?" John asked.   
"John." Sherlock replied. It was all he could say.    
"Hey, Sherlock, you okay?" John asked.   
"Turn around and walk back the way you came now." Sherlock requested.   
"No, I'm coming in." John denied.    
"Just do as I ask. Please." Sherlock begged, feeling slighted afraid.   
"Where?" John asked, bewildered.   
"Stop there." Sherlock said after a moment, as John walked to the ideal location.    
John stopped. "Sherlock?"   
"Okay, look up. I'm on the rooftop." Sherlock said, his voice imperceptibly shaking.    
John turned and looked up, his face filling with horror. "Oh God."   
"I ... I ... I can't come down, so we'll ... we'll just have to do it like this." Sherlock said, having trouble finding the right words.   
"What's going on?" John begged.   
"An apology. It's all true." Sherlock hated lying to John, but it would keep him alive.   
"Wh-what?" John blanched.   
"Everything they said about me. I invented Moriarty." Sherlock looked back at the body behind him, while John looked up at him in disbelief.    
'Why are you saying this?"   
"I'm a fake." Sherlock's voice broke.   
"Sherlock..." John said.    
"The newspapers were right all along. I want you to tell Lestrade; I want you to tell Mrs Hudson, and Molly ... in fact, tell anyone who will listen to you that I created Moriarty for my own purposes." Sherlock became tearful.    
"Okay, shut up, Sherlock, shut up. The first time we met ... the first time we met, you knew all about my sister, right?" John tried to rationalize.   
"Nobody could be that clever."   
"You could."   
Sherlock laughed, and looked down at his best friend, a tear dripping down his face. There was so much he wanted to say, and he could say none of it. "I researched you. Before we met I discovered everything that I could to impress you. It's a trick. Just a magic trick."   
John closed his eyes and shook his head repeatedly. "No. All right, stop it now." John started walking towards the hospital entrance.    
"No, stay exactly where you are. Don't move." Sherlock said urgently.    
  
"All right." John agreed.    
Sherlock began to breathe rapidly again, and stretched his hand out towards John.   
  
"Keep your eyes fixed on me." His voice became frantic. "Please, will you do this for me?"    
  
"Do what?" John asked, confused.    
  
"This phone call – it's, er ... it's my note. It's what people do, don't they – leave a note?"    
  
John shook his head, momentarily taking his phone from his ear as the stress of what he was beginning to understand hit him, then he raised it again, his voice shaky. "Leave a note when?"   
  
"Goodbye, John." Those words shattered Sherlock's heart.    
  
"No. Don't." John pleaded.    
Sherlock looked down at him, savoring his last view of John. He had no plan to survive. He would die so John could live. Sherlock lowered his outstretched arm, and dropped the phone.   
  
"No. SHERLOCK!" John screamed as Sherlock jumped off the ledge, the ground coming closer and closer with each second. Then he hit the ground and everything disappeared.    
-SH-   
Sherlock opened his eyes to a world of white. There was a golden gate before him, only one other person visible. A red haired man that looked to be Sherlock's age stood just in front of him. "Hello, Yellowbeard." The man said. "Welcome to heaven."   
Sherlock stumbled back, his heart pounding. Deep in his mind palace, something shifted, revealing a trove of memories that he had buried deep. "Vic-Victor?" Sherlock realized.   
Victor smiled sadly. "Yes, Sherlock. But you shouldn't be here yet. You were supposed to survive the fall. There's more for you to do."   
"What are you saying, Redbeard?" Sherlock asked.    
Victor sighed. "Sherlock...because you weren't supposed to die, you have the choice to stay...or to go back. I'm under obligation to warn you that going back will hurt. It will hurt, Sherlock, it will hurt badly."    
Sherlock's mind whirred. He could go back! He could see John again! Any kind of pain would be worth it if he could be with John again!    
"I want to go back." Sherlock decided.    
"Are you sure, Sherlock? Are you positive, because you won't get another chance after this."    
"I'm positive. Thank you, Victor." Sherlock said.   
Victor smiled sadly. "I'll see you again, someday, Sherlock. But you won't remember me when you go back, not for a while. But I'll wait, just as John is waiting for you now. Goodbye, Sherlock."   
"Goodbye, Victor." Sherlock's voice was heavy on his childhood-friend's name.   
Victor smiled, then he and the last realm of white seemed to vanish. Sherlock's vision tunneled, then everything was black. 


	2. Wholock

  
  


A wheezing-groaning sound had John spilling his tea. After mopping it up, he looked up and saw Sherlock with a startling look of rage on his face. 

 

A blue box shuddered into existence next to their chairs, the doors opened slowly and a man with gray hair and clothing reminiscent of a magician stepped out, his head bowed. 

 

Sherlock stormed forwards and stopped in front of the man, rage pouring off him. “WHERE WERE YOU?! WHERE WERE YOU WHEN I FACED MORIARTY? WHERE WERE YOU WHEN MARY—” 

 

The man looked up and his eyes shone with pain, his face a monument of sorrow. Sherlock’s anger seemed to melt away. “Who? What happened?” His voice was soft and sad. 

 

The man stepped away from the strange box and stopped when he was face-to-face with Sherlock, his posture still slumped. “All of them. They’re all gone, Sherlock. I’m alone again.” 

 

Sherlock sighed and pulled the man into a hug. The man reciprocated, but he mumbled something about hugs and hiding his face. 

 

After Sherlock pulled back, he scanned the man, nodded sharply, then walked into the box and returned with a chair that he plopped down beside his own.  “Sit.” He ordered. The man sat. 

 

Sherlock sighed, then turned to John. “John, this is my old friend the Doctor. He’s and alien who travels through time in space in that blue box, which happens to be bigger on the inside. I haven’t seen him in years.” 

 

Now that was a bit to much for John to handle. He closed his eyes and held out a hand to Sherlock. “Wait a minute, alien?”

“Yes.” Sherlock replied.

John pointed to the blue box. “Spaceship?”

“Yep.”

“ _ Bigger on the inside?! _ ” 

Sherlock sighed. “ _ Yes,  _ John.”

“Friend?” John asked, eyebrow raised, a half smile on his face. 

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and muttered a “piss off,” then turned to the Doctor. “What happened? Where were you?” he asked, only a slight accusation present, born of desire to understand.  

 

The Doctor sighed and rubbed his hand over his face. “Clara died because I let her become to much like me.” he said heavily. “She did what I would have done; she accepted a chrono-lock from the victim, and the one who controlled the lock was no longer in the loop. She couldn’t stop it. Of course, I had to try…” The Doctor leaned back in his chair. 

 

“The reason I couldn’t come help you, Sherlock, is that I have been trapped in my confession dial for the past 4.5 billion years, trying to save her the long way around. I only just got out.”

 

Sherlock sucked in a sharp gasp. His face then shifted into a look of contrition and shame. 

 

The Doctor looked at Sherlock sadly. “Did you truly think I wouldn’t come to your aid if I could have?” Upon seeing Sherlock’s face the Doctor’s shoulders slumped. “Of course you did.” 

 

“You have a time machine!” Sherlock exclaimed. “Why can’t you-”

“Because then this moment wouldn’t have ever happened, meaning I would never go. Paradox. Also, those are fixed points and I can’t meddle more with the timeline right now. I’m sorry. It will get better, though. I know it does.” 

 

John, having no idea what most of the words just said meant, looked on in confusion. He was aware that the man sitting in front of him was a) and alien, b) an old friend of Sherlock’s, and C) this man had a time machine but couldn’t fix any of what happened. 

 

“Why can’t you fix this?” John asked, his voice full of anger and confusion.

 

“I’m sorry, John, but there are some things in history that can’t be changed. If they are, it can result in the collapse of time. It happened once and it was a mess! Took me ages to fix. I died, sort of. Long story.”

 

Sherlock made a sound between a laugh and a groan. “You bet it was a mess! I had to help you fix that.”

 

The Doctor looked a Sherlock in surprise. “You remember that?” 

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Of course. I don’t forget things unless I want too.”

 

The Doctor smirked. “Like the solar system and anything you deem unworthy!”

“You’re still going on about that! Why do I need it? I’m down here and I didn’t expect to see you again!”

 

The Doctor’s smiled faded. “I didn’t mean for it to be this long…” As was typical of him, the Doctor then stood up quickly and smirked. “To make it up, how would you two fancy a trip?” 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm working on part two for this. I know it's a weird one, but I had the idea and thought it worth writing.


End file.
